


Konbini Serenade

by owlsshadows



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But mostly fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, and an ukulele, unbearably romantic oikawa, very tired suga, what could go wrong really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-07-27 05:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16212053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsshadows/pseuds/owlsshadows
Summary: People get crushes in the most random moments. Suga gets hit by a ball to his face and Oikawa writes a song about it on his horrendous, neon pink ukulele.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this all happened so suddenly, but we were talking about [Ridza's amazing ukulele Tooru](http://ridzakun.tumblr.com/post/172350339021/give-me-a-pining-oikawa-playing-a-ukelele), and it kinda spiraled out of control, into this brand new several chapter oisuga story? Careful, it hasn't been proofread. It also contains graphic descriptions of a really ugly ukulele.

Oikawa rolls away from the TV with a low groan, splaying across the floor and glancing back at the screen with raw agony. The recorded image of Hinata Shouyou, unbothered by Oikawa’s distress, smashes the ball over the net for the umpteenth time.

And again, the Oikawa Tooru on the screen is half step too late, the ball twisting over his wrists and pummels backwards with an awkward curve to it.

Remote in hand Oikawa stops the video and the ball freezes on the screen, just a breath away from the ground.

_They still didn’t lose. In that millisecond, they still didn’t…_

Growling in frustration once again, Oikawa skips backwards in the video and rubs his tired eyes with his free hand. Looking up at the screen, watching the players run backwards, balls falling upwards and landing in the hands of the players calms his heart somehow.

He restarts the recording after a while, rolling to his stomach and pulling his sketchbook to him to look at his notes. He analyses each and every play, over and over again – no longer out of curiosity or reflection, but out of sheer spite, a dark, murky feeling that comes in after dinner and stays with him late into the night, crawling up his spine and whispering ugly thoughts to him.

_Look at that footwork…_

Oikawa stops the video to scribble down a few words, turns a few pages, underlines a comment he made previously.

_These could be useful for Yahaba. Not that he would ever share his notes with Yahaba, but still._

He turns his head back towards the screen, presses play, watches. Soon a mop of ashen hair catches his attention.

_Refreshing-kun._

Karasuno’s number two walks over the edge of the court, raises the ball in the air and sends it flying, serve skillfully aimed at Iwaizumi.

_So not refreshing._

Oikawa’s eyes stay on the rival setter even after Iwaizumi received the ball. He watches him move, position himself, dive in seeking for the ball. Refreshing-kun is not exceptionally athletic. He is not remarkably fast or nimble, not strong or tall either. His footwork is average. His set up for the synchronized attack is elegant and clean, but not flawless. Rewatching, Oikawa can see it, read it from the way Refreshing-kun’s shoulders turn an inch mid-air where he is going to set.

Oikawa realizes that they entered the last rally a fraction too late, focusing a little too intense on the shorter of Karasuno’s setters. He sees himself, falling over table and chairs, sending the ball across the court. It is a magnificent pass – astounding to look at. Yet, it hurts, and it is not only because of the still deep purple bruises on his side causing this pain. As an escape mechanism, Oikawa casts his eyes back on Refreshing-kun.

He looks a hint antsy, standing around the inactive quarter of the court and following the ball with his eyes.

Oikawa tries to imagine what kind of person could he really be.

A mood maker, for sure. Someone clever, maybe, or even studious – Oikawa thinks envisaging the boy in Karasuno’s black gakuran, leaning on a desk surrounded by heaps of books. He seems to be the good guy, someone who would not break havoc… but then again, he did have some crazy moments on court. The one thing Oikawa remembers clearly is his _presence_. That unsettling feeling settling deep in his stomach as Refreshing-kun walks onto the court, eyes unreadable as if he was constantly plotting something…

_Whoops._

Refreshing-kun receives the block of Kindaichi right in his face on screen, eliciting a curt, carefree laugh from Oikawa.

_It’s adorable._

Petty as he gets, Oikawa jumps back in the video to rewatch the epic scene, sad that the teammate recording the match had only one hand camera, and not a professional crew ready to immortalize the precious moment from all possible angles. The face, oh the face of that pretty setter as he gets hit by the ball, is not properly captured for Oikawa’s needs, but the loud thud, followed by the painful ‘ugh’ of Refreshing-kun is clear on the recording, and it is priceless.

Oikawa replays it again and again, admiring the reflexes of Kyoutani to pick up the ball, and criticizing the aim of Kageyama’s spike along the way – and again and again, Kindaichi blocks the spike, and the ball connects with the forehead of Refreshing-kun each and every time. The setter stumbles back from the impact, accidentally making space for Hinata for his final, crucial run up.

Finally, a sneeze obstructs Oikawa from stopping and replaying the video, and he hears with eyes squeezed shut and palms before his face the sound of the ball touching the floor the last time, followed by a decisive whistle, and the arena bursts out in cheers.

Oikawa looks up, freezing the video on screen.

_There, they lost._

 

* ☆ *

 

Sugawara greets the old lady with a well-practiced jovial smile. She is one of the regulars, returning every Tuesday night to buy cat food and strawberry flavored pocky. Sugawara smiles as he scans in her purchase, bags it and hands it over – and as he watches the lady walk out of the shop, he tries to imagine what life she could be living, that necessitates for her to buy cat food at exactly 11 pm on every Tuesday night.

“You’re still here,” he hears then. Dragging his eyes back to the front of the counter, he sees Daichi, onigiri in hand and disapproval clear on his face.

“Hello,” Sugawara says, scanning the onigiri for him. “Anything else?”

“No, I just wanted… a midnight snack,” Daichi says, scratching his nape nervously.

_He’s still bad at lying._

“I see,” Sugawara says instead. “It will be 115 yen.”

Daichi hands him the money, suspiciously avoiding eye contact.

“So… how long ‘til you close?” he asks.

_So awkward._

“Well, the shop closes in five minutes,” Sugawara replies nonchalantly, handing Daichi back his change. “Though I suppose you meant when _I_ will finish,” followed by a silent nod from Daichi, “then the answer is in 20 minutes or so. Gotta close up the shop and change out of this,” Sugawara points at his vibrant uniform tee.

“I see,” Daichi nods again. “I’ll wait for you then.”

_This much is to be expected, right?_

“Don’t,” Sugawara says, leaning over the counter to pat his friend’s shoulder. “I know you feel guilty for getting me this job, Daichi, but please don’t. I’m fine.”

“You can’t be fine,” Daichi remarks, hands squeezing around the wrapping of his onigiri. “You’re overworking yourself.”

_Not everyone’s blessed with two parents with steady incomes._

Sugawara sighs, shaking his head softly. He takes a quick look around the store, and once he confirmed that no other customer is in, he steps out of the counter closing the cashier.

There are things he cannot say to Daichi, this much he knows. Like, how while Daichi’s dad owns the shopping mall by the station, Sugawara’s dad has left when he was five to never hear from him again. Or while Daichi’s mom is the owner of a beauty salon, Sugawara’s mom is simply a hairdresser working there. Sugawara feels it to be unfair, pointing out their differences when Daichi already feels so guilty for getting him this job.

_I need money._

It is not something he could ever say to Daichi. Not with a straight face, not without hurting his friend. Because Daichi _knows_ , and he would make up fake debts so he can pay Sugawara back for something he never owed. Because that would hurt Sugawara more than the pain in his back or the nausea he feels on days he does not sleep.

“I’m fine,” he says instead, firmly, looking straight in the eyes of Daichi. “I decided to do this, and I do it for myself.”

There are so many feelings in Daichi’s eyes, from genuine concern to slight panic, Sugawara almost smiles at it.

_He cares way too much._

“At least don’t come in for morning practice.”

“Then I will fall behind. Can’t have Kageyama best me in everything, can I?”

“At this rate, you will kill yourself. You’re up early for practice, study earnestly, and work after afternoon practice. When do you get home, midnight? When do you have time for showers, eating, or doing your homework? Or sleep?”

“Sleep is overrated,” Suga says, offhandish comment accompanied with a carefree grin. Now, if only his dark circles would not sell his secrets, it would be perfect. He could walk away from this conversation with a smile on his face, punching Daichi in the back for good measure and for worrying too much.

But Daichi is never far from the truth.

Sugawara is tired.

He is tired of doing his best but never being the best in anything. He is tired of waking up early, of buying new shoelaces, let alone the pair of new shoes he will have to eventually buy, as the soles of his volleyball shoes are threatening to fall off any moment now, and that is not a condition he can take them to the nationals. He is tired of the teachers’ nagging, of the amount of totally irrelevant and unnecessary homework they give out, of the weeks that just pass by his head without him really noticing. He is tired of work too, of the slacker university student who always arrives half an hour late to his shift and would not do any cleaning. He is tired of receiving his paycheck, and seeing it dissolve into thin air sooner than he could take a good look at it.

But he has an aim.

Even if he lost his position as the starting setter, he wants to be an integral part of Karasuno’s team.

And he wants to go to university, someplace decent.

But he would never, ever burden his mom with the school fees, or the money he needs for a new pair of his shoes.

Just as he would never, ever tell Daichi that he feels like falling apart, sometimes.

Because it is his decision.

“I want you to take care of yourself, Suga,” Daichi says, his voice strict for once. “We need you on the team, fresh and fit.”

_It’s empowering._

“I will,” Sugawara nods.

On Sunday, when he has no work or schoolwork, that is.

He will rest then.

 

* ☆ *

 

Quarter to midnight finds Oikawa on the floor with his back against the wall, head tipped back and looking at the little fluorescent starts he stuck on the ceiling of his room in elementary school. In his hands is the atrocious-looking ukulele he bought back at the end of middle school in spite of all the opposition and reasoning Iwaizumi threw at him back then, which he found while throwing a fit and kicking around just a moment ago, its body pained neon pink and shaped like an alien face.

_No matter what Iwa-chan says, it looks cool._

He runs his fingers across the strings, painfully out of tune.

“Getting a ball in the face,” he whispers, trying to find a rhythm. “Oh you have a game to ace…”

_Sugawara, was it?_

Oikawa thought the guy would be a pushover initially. Someone who was robbed of his starter place by Kageyama, an average guy overshadowed by a genius. Nothing special.

_Oh._

He thinks Sugawara is somewhat interesting now.

Was it the guts to jump in that synchronized attack against Shiratorizawa, even though he was blocked just before? Or was it the quick set he sent at Kageyama, surprising Seijou as a whole? Was it his refreshing tone, or his vicious serves?

Was it the delightful cheer he did for that quirky pinch setter?

Oikawa grumbles low, like a volcano slowly awakening from a thousand-year slumber, and pulls at the strings again.

“It’s not your smile, it’s not your face,” he sings.

_He’s pretty._

“Shit.”

Antsy, he gets up from the floor, walking around the room. His eyes fly to the screen, frame still frozen at the moment of their loss. Sugawara, a small, blurry figure on the screen, cheers with his hands up in the sky, blob of ash blond hair drawing Oikawa’s attention towards him like a friggin’ magnet.

“Shit,” Oikawa says again, frustrated, reaching for his keys and purse.

Realizing interest is not something he planned for this late hour and he is unsure of how to deal with it. Milk bread, though, has proven to be able to calm him many times, and a walk in the late October chill air might also be of help.

On his way out, he grabs the ukulele. The plan forming in his head is simple: go to a convenience store, grab a prepacked milk bread roll, go to the neighboring playground, hide under the slide, and play on his ukulele until his thoughts of Sugawara disappear.

 

* ☆ *

 

Sugawara double checks the money in the cashier, notes down the closing amount next to the opening one, and prints a receipt of all purchases of the day to double check if everything is good. Working with money makes him a little queasy, thinking about wrongly returning change let alone losing a few bills making him nervous. Still, the job at the convenience store is paying decent, and he gets the benefit of taking the unsold snacks home on their expiry date. He walks to the front door to close whistling a little tune, glancing happily over the snack bar. He will have a feast today.

He reaches the door, keys clacking in his hand, when a customer opens it from the other side wish so much momentum to the movement that Sugawara is nearly swept away.

“Sorry, we are closed for today,” he starts saying, speaking over the sound of the bell greeting the customer.

“Oh, is that so?” asks the customer, pouting.

There is something in his voice that makes Sugawara look up to face him square on. The chiseled jawline, the perfect pointy nose, the heavy eyelashes over those pretty brown eyes are all too familiar.

_Oikawa Tooru._

“Yeah, I was just about to lock the door,” he says, lifting his keys up meaningfully. He feels too tired to face the Grand King of Seijou now, so he hopes that the other will not recognize him.

_Not that he is any memorable, really…_

“Sugawara!” Oikawa exclaims, shattering Suga’s naïve hopes to get over with this quickly. He grabs Sugawara’s lifted arm fervently, giving his heart a skip.

Surprised and a little shocked, Sugawara forces a jovial smile on his face.

“Oikawa?”

“I…!” Oikawa says, but he retreats upon seeing the pointed look Sugawara is giving him. “Sorry,” he lets Sugawara’s arm go. “I was just excited to see you suddenly.”

“I’m surprised you even know who I am,” Sugawara replies, collecting himself quickly and pushing the key in the lock. “If you don’t mind, I really have to close the store now.”

“Well, but of course,” Oikawa steps out of his way politely, still, with the barely concealed excitement of a little kid. It reminds Sugawara of the kindergarteners living in his neighborhood. “Then, I’ll wait until you close up?” Oikawa motions towards the bench in front of the convenience store.

Sugawara blinks at him confused.

Oikawa blinks back. Once. Twice. Then he proceeds to turn red as a tomato.

“I mean… since I have met you… we could, you know, chat?” he stutters.

“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure why we would do so,” Sugawara says.

First Daichi, now Oikawa – people really wanted to wait on him closing the goddamn store. Though he finally managed to send Daichi home, ushering him out of the store telling him he sounds like some good mother hen when he worries so much, Oikawa was a different, by the same token a much more intriguing case. Apart from what he has seen on court, Sugawara barely knows Oikawa – yet for Oikawa to be ‘excited to see him’, let alone wanting to wait for him to close the store… Sugawara have not felt this lost in a while.

“Well,” Oikawa says, glancing away awkwardly. “It’s not like we would meet in school or we would have any more matches against each other.”

Sugawara is about to cut in and say that they could still organize a practice match – feeling eager to please the rival setter in front of him for some unknown reason – but he stops himself just in time. Unless him, who still has the Nationals before him, Oikawa graduated from his club. He looks at the pout on Oikawa’s lips, so childish yet–

_Irresistible._

“True,” he says finally and swallows a helpless sigh.

The bashful smile that appears on Oikawa’s face kills him good.

“I will be outside waiting then!” Sugawara hears, and the faint scent of shampoo reaches him with the flowing air as Oikawa turns on his heels and the door closes behind him.

Sugawara does not think of himself as a weak man – he is good at keeping his gay in check, surrounded by sweaty boys every day, often in some state of undress – but looking through the glass door now at the back of Oikawa skipping towards the bench moves something in him.

It could be fatigue, finally reaching him.

It could be the reawakening of a fleeting crush.

Either way, his heart beats wild in his chest as he grabs his bag and closes the store, and his mind is so fuzzy he almost forgets to pack snacks.

 

* ☆ *

 

The idea to buy milk bread in the middle of the night turned out to be a terrible, yet terrific idea when Oikawa bumped into the subject of his newfound affection on the doorstep of the convenience store. Terrible, because he blabbered like a stupid idiot in front of Sugawara – terrific, because Sugawara actually agreed to Oikawa waiting for him, and so now he gets to walk beside him.

While it was not that obvious from across the net, now walking side-by-side, Oikawa gets to notice the height difference between them, seeing the playful cowlick on the top of Sugawara’s head with each stolen glance, watching as it bounces up and down with each step.

Oh, he did not plan to meet Sugawara and even when he met him, all he wanted was to prolong contact, eagerly grasping at his only chance, that is, waiting for him to close the shop. But here they are now, walking side-by-side, and their hands brush together accidentally on occasion – and Sugawara never pulls away or steps farther, filling Oikawa with stuffy feelings, sending his heart in overdrive, and breathing comes hard, as if he climbed up a mountain running.

They talk, casually, about things they are both into – volleyball, mostly.

Sugawara looks pretty under the pale yellow light of the lamp posts, with his soft, untamable hair. His long lashes cast a shadow, mercifully hiding his dark circles from the eyes of the onlooker except for when he looks up, hazel eyes a little bloodshot, lids a little puffy. He is talking in a soothing, albeit a tired voice.

Oikawa walks him to his bus stop, eyes never once leaving his frame.

He looks beautiful. Exhausted, but breathtaking. And Oikawa Tooru, age eighteen and three months, gets a new goal – apart from becoming the number one volleyball player in Japan, naturally – namely to get Sugawara a good rest.

Waving bye as the last bus takes Sugawara away, Oikawa plops down on the bench in the bus stop, opening his bag to take his ukulele out. Its glossy neon pink paint reflects the light of the lamp above Oikawa, as if its alien face was smirking at him judgingly.

_So what if he is in love?_

His fingers find the strings, hitting an accord way off tune.

He has a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa is a mess. Sugawara procrastinates. Hinata just barely escapes 'attempted murder' to be recorded under his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sugawara pouts, balancing a pen between his top lip and nose. It has been twenty minutes since he sat down to complete his world history assignment, and he has beat two levels in candy crush since._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ... tell me you never felt the same.
> 
> Sugawara's chat name is supposed to be Suga(R), AO3's font doesn't make it justice.
> 
>  
> 
> [Fyfe - Control](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fq4ss7Luzbs)
> 
> Not edited, we die like men.  
> Please note that English is still not my mother tongue, so pointing out if I used an expression weirdly is entirely fair play and actually appreciated.

Oikawa has been great at writing songs, really. Iwa-chan could attest to it that his song “why does miso soup taste so bland today?” would have been a great hit if he ever recorded it.

“What’s with the shit eating grin?” Iwaizumi asks, placing his bag beside the table in Oikawa’s room. He proceeds to sit down and unpack his homework while Oikawa answers him.

“I’m thinking of writing a song.”

“Oh, not that again.”

“Iwa-chan, would you please give me more credit? I have affinity~”

“And I have a headache from even imagining you singing,” Iwaizumi replies, opening his maths workbook. “Now, if you are over your dreamy moment, could you please focus on homework? I need your help with these damn graphs.”

“It would be a love song, naturally, incorporating all the wonderful qualities Sugawara has, encompassing an ethereal theme, like a lullaby filled with my feelings.”

“Sounds brilliant,” Iwaizumi comments deadpan. “Who’s Sugawara anyway?”

“Karasuno’s setter,” Oikawa replies.

“That third year?” Iwaizumi raises a brow, hitting his workbook page with his pencil musingly. “He has some nasty serves indeed, but why would you write a song about his ‘wonderful qualities’?”

“Because I love him.”

“ _Love_ love?”

“Why do you sound so doubting, is it weird of me to fall for someone?”

“No, that’s not so weird. I was just surprised. How come Sugawara of all people?”

“He looks cute when a ball hits him in the face,” Oikawa says the first thing that comes to his mind, only to receive a grimace from Iwaizumi.

“You should really see a doctor, Shittykawa.”

“He is also beautiful and kind and patient and funny,” Oikawa continues, a smile playing on his lips as he pulls out his ukulele from under a pile of unwashed clothes. “And I want to hang out with him and hold his hands, and–”

“And you want to write him a song,” Iwaizumi says, concern in his voice.

“I do.”

“Do you want to kill the guy or what?”

“Iwa-chan, why are you so ruthless with me?”

“Because you’re an idiot. Now, help me with homework.”

Oikawa glances over, panging one of the strings randomly. Iwaizumi looks up from his book and sends his best not impressed expression at Oikawa, awakening the jackass in his captain.

“How could I be an idiot, if I’m in the top 10 of my year?” Oikawa asks, playing an easy accord.

“There’s a difference between aptitude and intelligence. Just because you can solve a bunch of maths problems, it doesn’t mean that you’re not the biggest dumbass I know.”

“That was not nice,” Oikawa notes after a second of affronted silence. It is not like he really has hard feelings about Iwa-chan calling him out on his idiocy – he knows all well that he can be a pain in the ass, more frequently than not, and he appreciates the patience Iwaizumi still has for him, even after over ten years of friendship. Still, his pride makes him pout, faking being hurt just to see how Iwaizumi reacts.

“But it was true,” Iwaizumi replies, and not even ten plus years of friendship could save Oikawa from the loathe in his best friend’s eyes.

“Iwa-chan~”

“Maths. Homework.” If glances could kill, Oikawa would be already dead.

Huffing a little in reluctance, Oikawa puts his ukulele down beside him and scoots closer to the table.

“Show me what you don’t understand.”

 

* ☆ *

 

Sugawara pouts, balancing a pen between his top lip and nose.

It has been twenty minutes since he sat down to complete his world history assignment, and he has beat two levels in candy crush since. The paper in front of him glares back at him pure white and entirely inkless.

He wants to finish this assignment, he really does. But deadline to hand it in is Monday next week, and it is still Thursday. He has a _weekend_ before him to do this – but Sunday, he plans to sleep all day, so he wants to finish before that.

He has little motivation, if any.

He scrolls past an article on his phone, scanning the script bored.

Assignments… he is not exactly fond of them.

Sugawara opens the messenger app, a bit disappointed to see that no one has replied to his witty meme in the group chat of his class – and more disappointed to see that no one has texted him in the few seconds since he last checked.

He scrolls past his last few conversations – the class group chat, his mom, his aunt, Nishinoya (begging for his notes from last year), Kageyama (asking for tips and tricks on how to get better at complimenting others), Yoshida from the soccer club (challenging him to something stupid, of course Sugawara accepted it), his middle school group chat (they are planning a gathering somewhere in town on Sunday, not that Sugawara would go on his precious free day), the group chat he has with Asahi and Daichi. His finger stops, pressing down softly on the chat marked with the suggestive avatar of a volleyball.

He scrolls back, reading back the convo they had the day before, laughing once again about how Asahi has been dragged to a parent-teacher talk because someone mistook him for the father of a child in front of the local elementary school.

_Asahi always has the best stories._

Sugawara sighs. He casts his eyes back on the untouched sheet of paper on his desk, lack of motivation finding on him with renewed force. He types in a message faster than anything.

[ Suga® ]: what if i become a porn star

The reply comes almost instantly.

[ ✿Asahi✿ ]: (“☉｡☉)

[ Sawamura Daichi ]: … are you writing homework?

[ Suga® ]: why now. it sounds better than this history assignment

[ ✿Asahi✿ ]: Suga, think about your mom

[ Sawamura Daichi ]: Don’t take him seriously.

[ Suga® ]: im seriously considering it

[ Sawamura Daichi ]: No, you don’t.

[ Suga® ]: oh but imagine if i were someone famous

[ Suga® ]: recognized by my perky butt everywhere

[ ✿Asahi✿ ]: \\(>o<”)/

[ Sawamura Daichi ]: Suga stop. You give Asahi a frighten.

[ Suga® ]: will you write my assignment if i stop

[ Suga® ]: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

[ Sawamura Daichi ]: No, but I might make you run extra laps on morning practice tomorrow if you continue.

Suga sighs, looking up from his phone. The paper looks back at him. He glares at the paper, grimacing. He grabs his pen and puts down a title, wonderfully crafted with his finest letters.

He takes his phone up again to announce his great achievement, when he notices a new message popping up. He raises a brow, looking at the sender. He raises another, when in rapid succession, a line of new messages appear on his screen.

[ Kageyama ]: !!!!!!

[ Kageyama ]: help me Sugawara-san

[ Kageyama ]: Hinata and I are at the park

[ Suga® ]: jealous~

[ Suga® ]: what do you need help with?

[ Kageyama ]: Oikawa-san

Sugawara blinks at the screen. On the scale of 1 to 10, Oikawa Tooru does not seem to be too high on the level of threats. On the other hand, Kageyama has history with Seijou’s setter, and Sugawara did promise after their first official match against Seijou that he would always be there for Kageyama, should he have problems with Oikawa.

[ Kageyama ]: I think Hinata killed him with a ball

[ Kageyama ]: can you please come please??

It takes Sugawara a split moment to make his decision. While he believes that Kageyama would be able to solve the situation on his own just fine, and he should be doing homework, but a chance meeting with Oikawa in the park sounds way more tempting than any kind of assignment, especially one that is not due the next day.

Especially after that little walk a few nights back.

[ Suga® ]: on it ~( ˘ ³˘)~

He types his answer in quickly, pocketing his phone and grabbing his coat from the hanger on his door. His mom is still at work, so he has no one to say goodbye to or to announce his leave.

He steps in his shoes by the door, grabbing an umbrella on his way out.

The weather forecast app on his phone said it will rain.

 

* ☆ *

 

After teaching Iwaizumi the mystery of graphs, Oikawa leaves the house for snacks. It is a lame excuse, one that he cannot even deceive himself with. Walking by the convenience store, he peeks through the glass door, scanning the shop for a slender blond figure.

He is looking for Sugawara, but can’t catch a glimpse of him anywhere.

_Maybe it’s not his shift._

The thought, he realizes, makes him a little disheartened, and he catches himself wandering out to the main road and walking down towards the station aimlessly. On his walk he passes by the family restaurant owned by the family of Mattsun, who waves at him through the glass. Oikawa waves back, small smile on his lips, before he stalks away.

The disappointment of not seeing Sugawara may make him a little prickly, a little cantankerous. He is in no mood to talk.

He crosses the road at the station, sinking his hands into his pockets deep. The streets around him light up, lamps blinking above his head to cast away the starting dimness of the evening.

Before he realizes it, he is standing in the exact same bus stop he said goodbye to Sugawara on Tuesday.

_What was his bus number?_

If he remembered, he wouldn’t have to guess, yet he takes his chance when a bus rolls in with “Karasuno” written on as destination. He gets on it before his rationality could protest, sitting by the window.

He feels stupid the very next moment as the doors close and the engine starts, but it’s already too late to take off. So he watches as the bus takes the road out of city, leaving Sendai quickly behind, unable to change his fate and fully aware of just how pathetic he is.

He takes his ukulele out of his backpack, playing a few short, off tune accords.

_He is an idiot._

It’s not the very first time he did something stupid spontaneously – his impulsive decisions are probably number one on the list of things causing Iwa-chan’s headaches, followed shortly by his terrible puns and… thinking about it, he may just cause all of Iwa-chan’s headaches. But it’s the first time he did something spontaneous out of love. Previously, if he fell for someone, he took them on a date he planned meticulously, supported by several backup plans. He never ran head into the wall, it was not a very Oikawa thing to do – apart from volleyball, that is.

Is Sugawara different then, Oikawa wonders, fingers still against the strings of his ukulele, head leaning against the window of the bus.

He shouldn’t be.

He is an average setter, average height, average skills, average plays.

A pretty face, yes. With that tuft of soft hair that invites the onlooker to ruffle it, with that strategically placed mole that marks the best place to kiss, with that toothy grin warming hearts even across the net…

Oikawa bangs his head against the window softly, careful not to kill any of his precious brain cells, but theatrical enough to fully bask in his lovesickness.

The bus stops after a good twenty minutes, in a stop that seems to be the final one, with a school on one side and a park on the other. Oikawa takes off, looking around hesitantly. Unsurprisingly, the school gates are closed, light appearing only in a few of the windows inside (teachers, taking their extra hours correcting tests, maybe). The park on the other side of the road is well lit, with a few trees and a playground in sight.

Oikawa decides to cross the road – he would feel it to be embarrassingly dumb to return immediately after he has arrived, and he has no idea of the bus schedule either.

He passes a slide and a seesaw, walking straight to the climbing frame. These have been his favorites as a kid; he loved climbing to the top and watching the stars from up there. They felt somewhat closer that way. Iwa-chan, of course, would laugh at him for it, but he would still follow Oikawa up there, even if he was a little afraid of heights back then.

Oikawa climbs the frame – it feels so much easier, compared to when they were little – carrying his ukulele to the top with him. The sky must be unclear, for not too many stars are visible, even though darkness surrounds the park as a comfy blanket. Oikawa still stares up, wishing upon an imaginary shooting star, wishing for his delusional feelings to tame into something mellow, something manageable.

A crush would be nice, really. Some swooning while he replays the match against Karasuno. Maybe a little flutter to his heart when he sees Sugawara at the convenience store.

But this voluminous storm building in his heart, this impulsive, self-destructive force that took him all the ways to Karasuno, it’s unbearable.

He pangs a few strings lamely, opening his mouth to sing about the guy occupying his every second thought awake (and a little more of his dreams), when something hits him hard on the head and he turns off the climbing frame, falling to the ground.

 

* ☆ *

 

The park seems awfully quiet this evening, especially for a place where Karasuno’s trouble maker first year duo is. Sugawara enters through the gates with worry knotting a lump in his throat and hands forming fists unconsciously. He walks by the first few bushes and benches when he hears voices coming from the direction of the playground. Quickening his steps, he stalks towards the climbing frame towering above the surrounding greenery.

“Kageyama!” Sugawara shouts as he spots the lanky first year.

“Sugawara-san!”

“What happened?”

“We were out practicing, and Hinata had a bad receive…”

“It was you who hit the ball meanly!” Hinata joins in, popping out from behind a tree. He has an ukulele in one hand, a backpack in the other, but it doesn’t stop him from waving at Sugawara. “Hello, Suga-senpai!”

“And the stray ball hit Oikawa-san,” Kageyama finishes, with a grimace between irritation and worry on his face. “He fell from the climbing frame.”

Sugawara follows Kageyama’s pointing hand to the bottom of the climbing frame, breath hitching as he spots the body lying there.

“Why would he be on top of it?” is the first thing that escapes his mouth.

“We dunno!” Hinata chirps. “We found him after we heard that loud ‘thud’ and then nothing.”

“… and then nothing,” Sugawara repeats with slight panic.

“But we didn’t really kill him,” Hinata hurries to clarify. “He breathes.”

“And he didn’t break his skull. Hinata saw it in a movie that people whose skull is broken bleed from the ear, and Oikawa-san’s head seems fine. He lost consciousness, though.”

“For how long?” Sugawara asks.

“Few minutes?” Hinata wonders. “Kageyama wrote to you as soon as we found him.”

“You should’ve called an ambulance, not me!”

Sugawara steps closer, phone in hand, squatting down beside the unconscious Oikawa. With his eyes closed and breathing slowly, he seems peaceful, his beauty stirring something up in Sugawara’s chest. Sugawara reaches out, a hand brushing Oikawa’s hair out of his face, when the phone connects.

“Yes, hello, this is Sugawara Koushi from the municipal park across Karasuno high school. My friend fell off the climbing frame at the playground and lost consciousness,” he starts, when he feels fingers circling around his wrist. Pulling away, he sees Oikawa blinking up at him, confused. “Yes. He just regained consciousness. For a few minutes, yes.”

“Friend?” Sugawara hears, and Hinata jumps behind him, shouting ‘he’s awake’ towards Kageyama, who still stands considerably further down the road, scanning the distance.

“Oikawa, do you know who I am?” Sugawara asks, listening on the instructions of the dispatcher.

An idle smile tugs at Oikawa’s lips, bearing his even, white teeth.

“Refreshing-kun,” he mumbles.

“He seems a little dizzy,” Sugawara says to the phone. “Yes, I’m afraid he hit his head when he fell. Yes, I will be waiting.”

Sugawara pockets his phone, looking down at Oikawa.

“You fell,” he tells him. “And hit your head. I called an ambulance because you lost consciousness. We don’t want you to have some internal bleeding, so.”

“We don’t,” Oikawa repeats, little off.

“They said not to move you, so,” Sugawara says, straightening up – only to be caught by the anchor of Oikawa’s hand, dragging him back to the ground with power that makes him stumble for real, nearly falling over Oikawa’s body. “Hey, that’s dangerous,” he hisses.

“I shouldn’t move,” Oikawa explains.

“ _You_ shouldn’t move,” Sugawara presses. “But I can.”

“Don’t leave me,” Oikawa asks, pouting. He looks unbearably cute and crazy annoying at the same time. “I will die.”

“No, you won’t,” Sugawara says, running a thumb along the inside of Oikawa’s wrist as to provide support.

Oikawa seems calm enough for someone declaring his imminent death, looking at him with a long, curious gaze from behind half closed lids.

“You good, Oikawa?” Sugawara asks, clearing his throat.

“Hn,” Oikawa nods softly with minimal motion. “Though I guess you could say I’ve… fallen for you,” he winks with both eyes.

“Quite literally, huh?” Sugawara hushes him, commanding the blood flooding his face to take an immediate U-turn. “You just fell all the way from the top of the climbing frame.”

“I remember something hitting me?” Oikawa frowns in reply.

“Hinata!” Sugawara turns his head away, looking at the small middle blocker by his side.

Before he could spout out something stupid and admit that he caused Oikawa’s injury, it would be better to get him away from the scene, Sugawara thinks.

“The ambulance is on its way. Could you and Kageyama wait by the entrance of the park and lead them here when they arrive?”

“Yes, senpai!” the small redhead replies. “Where do I put the stuff of the Grand King?”

“The stuff…?” Sugawara asks, but Oikawa speaks over him.

“Is my ukulele broken?”

“No, Oikawa-san” Hinata replies a little stiff, lifting the instrument up so Oikawa can see it. “It has not even a scratch on it.”

“Good,” Oikawa closes his eyes.

“Just leave them here,” Sugawara says, patting the ground beside him. Soon a backpack and the horrendous looking instrument ends up leaned against each other by his feet, Hinata running off towards Kageyama.

“Sugawara,” he hears, and feels Oikawa tugging at his wrist.

“Hn?” he turns back, looking at the fallen boy who wears a smitten look on his face.

“You’re too pretty.”

 

* ☆ *

 

“It’s a slight concussion,” Oikawa says when the three from Karasuno jump up simultaneously watching him exiting the examination room. “I will have to spend the night for safety reasons, but otherwise I’m much better.”

“Much better?” Sugawara is the first one to speak up – of course he has to be it, reminding Oikawa of his disgraceful seconds of dizziness, when all kinds of truths fell from his lips unsupervised.

“Yeah. I had this strange flirting fit, but it’s all gone. I just have a headache and a little nausea now.”

“Strange, indeed,” Sugawara says softly, but the chibi shrieks over it.

“Flirting fits, wow! I never had them even though I had concussion at least three times. Or was it four?”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so dumb,” Kageyama supplies, and for once Oikawa is thankful for his kouhai for opening his mouth, because it draws the attention of the other two. Yet… while the chibi attacks the other first year ferociously, Kageyama’s comment is not enough of a distraction for Sugawara, who laughs along, even comments on their horrible grades, but from the corner of his eye, he sends a curious glance towards Oikawa.

And Oikawa explodes.

If he didn’t act like an idiot before he injured his head, he would have something to blame it on, but this, here, is infatuation at its finest.

There’s one too many things to like in Sugawara.

The mole in the corner of his eyes.

The curve of his lips.

The mischievous grin that spreads across his face once he sent the first years home and turned back towards Oikawa.

“So,” he starts, and the blood in Oikawa’s veins simultaneously freezes and boils at the sound of his voice. “You are much better now?”

“Much better,” Oikawa repeats, nodding along a little too vigorously for his hurting head.

“No more flirting fits?”

“Yeah. No.”

“Which one?” Sugawara asks, stepping a little closer.

His big brown eyes.

His cute nose.

The way he licks his lower lip, oh, it screams of a trap, and Oikawa helplessly falls for it, eyes landing on the shiny wet surface and remaining there, lost for words or reason.

“Are you still dizzy?” the lips ask, and hands touch his head carefully, turning it slightly, examining his brand new bandage. “You did hit your head after all, huh?”

“I did,” Oikawa breathes, realizing that he has forgotten to do so for a while.

“Rest,” Sugawara replies, stepping back and smiling at him. “Take a good rest, and tomorrow you will be back to normal.”

“I wonder…” Oikawa mutters so silently Sugawara can’t hear. His eyes, betraying him once again, follow Sugawara’s jawline under his ear, finding there a fine little spot to kiss.

He squeezes his fist shut, nails digging in his palm to remind him where he is. He slipped up big time as it is, quasi confessing to Sugawara while they waited for the ambulance. Any more than that, and his pride would not be able to bear it.

“Your parents said that they will come immediately when I spoke with them, so I think they will be here soon,” Sugawara says. His long lashes cast an uncanny shadow over his dark circles as he casts his eyes to the floor, and Oikawa can’t help but notice the sudden difference in his tone, voice softer, words quieter, as he continues. “You’d better not fall for me again if you hurt yourself so badly.”

_There._

Oikawa stands, dumbstruck, the remnants of his pride evaporating through his burning ears. This moment, he would rather chit-chat with Ushiwaka than to see Sugawara in the eyes, but Karasuno’s setter is cruel like that, raising his glance and meeting his in a somewhat sad manner.

“I wish for your speedy recovery, Oikawa,” he says, smacking him on his arm with force Oikawa would not have attributed to such a skinny looking boy. “Goodbye.”

And like that, he walks away, leaving Oikawa on the corridor alone.

You’d better not fall for me again–

You’d better not fall for me–

_There._

At least he has his fall to blame for the tears probing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [LOOK AT THE OIKAWA LIZA DREW FOR THE FIC. I CRY THIS IS SO AMAZING AND CUTE](http://ridzakun.tumblr.com/post/178946464821/a-lil-oikawa-doodle-for-owlsshadowss-fanfic)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is hectic. I planned to update waaaay earlier. Sorry guys!

Friday morning finds Sugawara in a terrible state.

For one, he is sleep deprived, arriving home late and realizing it only after midnight that he had English homework to do - and for two, he is mortified by the messages he left in the group chat with Asahi and Daichi. He left 17 messages describing the whole Oikawa incident to them in detail, starting with "OMG Hinata finally killed a man" and ending with "everything's good, I sent the boys home". The reason of his terror comes afterwards, in the 20 or so messages (and even more stickers and bashfully blushing faces in between), sent between 2 and 3 am.

The chain of cringe worthy messages starts with "btw I think Oikawa confessed to me". But, as neither Daichi nor Asahi has been awake in that ungodly hour and Sugawara has been left unsupervised, he rambled on.

[ Suga® ]: it was cute

[ Suga® ]: he called me Refreshing-kun

[ Suga® ]: and told me that I’m pretty

[ Suga® ]: and then he tried to cover it up

[ Suga® ]: calling it a “flirting fit”

[ Suga® ]: can you imagine, Oikawa, of all people?

[ Suga® ]: you have to understand

[ Suga® ]: I had to tease him

[ Suga® ]: he was just sooo cute

Sugawara growns, turning in his bed, pulling up his pillow as a defensive fortress between him and the sappy monologue he wrote deep in the night glaring back at him from his phone’s screen.

[ Suga® ]: gosh, what if he really likes me?

The phone is absolutely winning their glaring contest, for Sugawara is too busy hiding behind his pillow embarrassed.

[ Suga® ]: I would like that

[ Suga® ]: I think I would absolutely like that

It is not that he lied… at 2:30 am he was in no state to lie. And that is the problem.

[ Suga® ]: imagine a bashful Oikawa, can you?

[ Suga® ]: I kinda want to see his blush again

[ Suga® ]: I know this sounds stupid

[ Suga® ]: but you see

[ Suga® ]: this is just a what-if scenario

[ Suga® ]: but

[ Suga® ]: what if he really likes me?

[ Suga® ]: I sure as hell can’t afford to date at the moment, but I would if I could.

Sugawara growls again, his last message glaring back at him adorned with an unnecessary amount of blushing emojis.

[ Suga® ]: I would absolutely date Oikawa

He looks skeptically at the notification that says the message was read by Daichi at 5:32. Of course, Daichi would wake up early. And of course he would read it, shake his head, and leave it as it is. That is how Daichi is, silently judging people on their crushes, when he himself has been crushing hard for three years and the closest he got to confessing was that one time when he scolded Asahi so badly Asahi almost cried.

Sugawara rolls out of bed and splays out on the floor, agonizing because of his own stupidity. He only collects himself due to the floor being cold, and drags himself towards the bathroom.

In there, he stares at his reflection in the mirror, eye bags so huge staring back at him they almost have their own little body parts growing. Sugawara lets out a disappointed sigh, leaning down to wash his face. As usual, he doesn’t find the power to deal with his hair, instead, he steals a wince of his mother’s concealer for his dark circles. During his last school year, he has become almost as good at concealer as trigonometry – and he spent an awful lot of time mastering the latter.

Dressing up for school is not something he puts effort into; he feels lucky that their school shirt is from the easy wash – easy iron type, for he would probably be the most ragged looking human otherwise. He wears a simple T-shirt underneath, buttons up his shirt and pulls his gakuran on top of it with close to no effort (the only thing he pays attention to is not pulling things on backwards), and skips down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

What he is not prepared to see there, is his mother, who should have already left for work, and for the man clad in a flawless suit perfectly fitting his body, standing with his back to the door.

“Think about it, Madoka.” The man just finishes his talk as Sugawara steps in the room.

“Oh, Koushi!” his mom says, as she spots him looking over the man’s shoulder.

The man at his name stiffens, turning his head slightly.

A face much alike his own looks at Sugawara, lest for the mole under his eye he inherited from his mother.

“Morning, Mom,” Sugawara says as the blood in his veins freeze, his eyes never quite leaving the man. “Who’s this?”

He can see his mother’s telltale grimace from the corner of his eyes, and that is more than enough for him to realize.

“Koushi,” the man says as he turns towards Sugawara. His voice is deep; Sugawara would even call it soothing if he didn’t find it hateful. His height is almost the same as Sugawara’s, his hand, reaching out for a handshake, looks eerily similar in shape.

Sugawara finds it unfair, to be an exact replica of someone who didn’t want him, someone who left his mother alone to bring him up, someone who could not even call once in the last twelve years…

He turns on his heels before his brain could make out one clear thought, and runs towards the entrance. He jumps into his shoes with godly speed and reaches for his coat more out of reflex than anything else. He grabs his keys only as an afterthought before he is out the door.

If anything, this Friday will be one hellishly long day.

 

* ☆ *

 

Desperate times call for desperate solutions – and as Oikawa doesn’t find the key to the shed his mother keeps her gardening tools, he can’t help but decide to take the plastic playground shovel of his nephew to take down with him to the corner of his mother’s garden.

This is how Iwaizumi finds him as he walks past the Oikawa household on his way to school: squatting over the hard, cold ground, scraping away at the dirt with his play shovel pathetically.

“What are you doing, Shittykawa?” comes the question, which could be said, is logical coming from the wing spiker. Yet, from the standpoint of Oikawa Tooru, the answer should be obvious.

“Digging my own grave, naturally.”

“Naturally,” his childhood friend repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Just what happened to you that you need a grave? And what is that bandage on your head? Tell me, did they finally find the source of your stupid and removed it or something?”

“I fell off a climbing frame and hit my head.”

“Oh.”

“And I kinda confessed to Sugawara.”

“You did what?!”

“Well,” Oikawa starts, continuing his ministrations rigorously – not that the hardened soil would feel anything from it. “I went to Karasuno.”

“To the high school?”

“No, the space station. Of course the high school.”

“Gosh.”

“Yeah.”

“Need any help digging your grave?”

“Iwa-chan, how can you be so cruel!”

“Why? You don’t seem to be very efficient there,” Iwaizumi replies. “I bet I can help to bury you forever.”

“You want me to disappear?” Oikawa asks back, seemingly hurt.

“No, dumbass. I just want you to regain your senses,” Iwaizumi gives him a pat on the shoulder. “Come on. School’s up. We gotta go.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“No, I’m too embarrassed to show my face around.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about, you attend Aoba Jousai, not Karasuno.”

“But what if someone heard?”

“You think Sugawara would spill the beans on you?”

“No, but Tobio-chan…”

“My fuckin God, Oikawa, did you go ahead and make a gross scene in front of Kageyama?”

“Why do you assume it was a gross scene?”

“Can’t imagine you confessing like a normal person.”

“Well, thanks, I guess,” Oikawa stands, dusting off his otherwise impeccable school uniform. “Just for your information, I didn’t really do anything gross. I just… hit my head and made a pun about falling.”

“Gross.”

“Kageyama was not even in earshot. Apart from, probably, when I told Sugawara that he was pretty.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi says. “I think that even his brain could process.”

“Why are you so hard on me? I’m the victim here, I hit my head and while confused, spouted all kinds of stuff, and called Sugawara Refreshing-kun, and… really, have you ever been in love to understand how this feels?”

“For one, it’s not any of your business.”

“How come. I always tell you about my romances.”

“Did I ever ask for it?”

“Iwa.chan!”

“For real, Oikawa. You just tell me everything that happens to you. All the time. Ever heard about oversharing?”

“We are childhood friends!”

“Yeah, that means that we played along when we were little,” Iwaizumi replies. “It does _not_ mean that we have to know about each other’s love lives.”

“You really don’t understand love, do you?” Oikawa pouts.

“Well… now, don’t make that face, would you,” Iwaizumi says, voice guilty as he looks at the sulking Oikawa. “If you really need to know, I am in a relationship.”

“In a _what_?!”

 

* ☆ *

 

Sugawara left a short message to Daichi explaining why he didn’t go to morning practice, so the only one messaging him later on is Yoshida from the football club.

[ YoshiDaCool ]: Oy, where are you?

[ Suga® ]: skipping

[ YoshiDaCool ]: Bro, let me join, maths is killing me

[ Suga® ]: sorry, I’m not in the mood

Sugawara pockets his phone, ignoring the incessant buzzing that marks the football captain’s eagerness to join him in his outdoors endeavors.

The riverside is quiet this morning. Sugawara sees no one, but a jogging university student and an old lady walking her dog.

Sugawara lays down in the grass, casting his eyes up at the sky with a long sigh. It is grey and murky, as if it was to mirror his feelings.

There is nothing he would do rather than to stay like this forever.

He barely remembers the last time he saw his father.

Back then he was still called Yamada Koushi. He remembers, as those were the first letters he learned how to write, and later he had some struggles to get the ‘Sugawara’ right. He recalls a summer festival, where he watched fireworks sitting on the shoulders of his father, and has hazy memories of visiting a zoo once… but that is all.

He realizes, he has more fond memories with some of his mother’s ex-boyfriends than with his own father. He doesn’t even remember when his father left. He was just suddenly not there, missing out on his kindergarten graduation. He started elementary as Sugawara Koushi, the kid “with no papa”. And he did his best to own it, to stand up to anyone who tried to bully him for it and to protect his mother in his father’s place, as much as a fiery seven-year-old could do.

A sour, dark feeling settles in his stomach, spurring him to his feet and leading him back to the house.

To no one’s surprise, he doesn’t find his father there anymore, but his mother is sitting in the living room, draped in a fleece blanket hugging a cup of tea and staring off to the distance.

“I’m home,” Sugawara greets her.

“You didn’t go to school today.”

“No.”

“Understandable,” his mother says, tapping the seat beside her on the couch. “Come, I have something to tell you.”

Sugawara fiddles a bit before stepping forward – a fear previously unknown to him overcoming him. Speaking of what-if scenarios, but one less bubbly than the one occupying his brain late in the night, what if his father wanted a way back to their lives? What if, after more than twelve years of silence, he would just waltz back in, and Sugawara’s mother would accept him back?

“That man in the morning was Yamada Kouta,” his mother says when Sugawara finally steps closer.

That’s his father’s name.

“Yeah,” he replies, slumping down in the seat.

His mother immediately reaches out, hugging him and covering him with her blanket. It’s warm, it smells like home, comfortable.

Sugawara eases to the touch, taking a short, ragged breath before speaking.

 “So… what did he want?” he asks, cozying himself into the cocoon of the blanket and burying his head in his mother’s hair.

“Seems like he suddenly realized that he has a son graduating high school soon,” his mother says, in a tone that almost sounds amused. “And he decided to drop by to let us know that he wants to pay for your university education.”

“That’s… sudden,” Sugawara says.

“You tell me,” his mother shrugs.

“What did you reply?”

“It’s not my education you know,” she says, brushing his hair with her fingers.

“You want me to decide?”

“I won’t force you to make a decision if you don’t want to. But it’s your life and your education. If I were you, I would accept it without a second of hesitation. He owns you way more than simply paying for your school fees, but… you know, it is important to get the most out of an opportunity. If he was not here for you as a kid, the least he can do is to support you financially now.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“I did, oh I did, and I told him more,” his mother laughs, a little funny laugh between a giggle and a snort. “He got his lecture from me for good.”

Sugawara tries to imagine it – his mom, always calm and collected, somewhat angelic in a sense, giving a lecture to this grown man, who is much taller than her and whose suit may have cost more than the monthly rent they pay for their entire house. He finds the mental image to be somewhat absurd, but strangely comforting.

“He has always been… an indecisive, wishy-washy guy,” his mom tells Sugawara, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I knew it and I still fell for him, so somewhere it’s my bad I think. You see, he was humorous, easy-going and refreshing…”

 _Refreshing_ – the word that made his heart flutter just the night before, comes back at Sugawara with a sting. But his mother hugs him again, and her embrace is soothing and warm.

“You are nothing like him,” she whispers in his ear.

“You sure?” Sugawara asks. “They call me refreshing too–”

“Because you are. But you are so much more than that. You are courageous, determined and you have a stone strong resolve. I’m proud to have raised a son like you.”

Sugawara leans back to see his mother’s face better. He searches for signs of a lie, for mischief or a joke. But all he can see is all she mentioned. Pride.

“Thank you, Mom,” he says, suddenly shy. “I’m proud that you’re my mother too.”

 

* ☆ *

 

“Who is it?” Oikawa asks, latching himself at Iwaizumi’s desk as soon as he hears the bell signaling their lunch break.

“Not telling,” Iwaizumi replies, standing to walk out of the classroom. Oikawa tags along, naturally, as this is a scoop he can’t just simply miss.

“Come on,” he nags. “You have to tell me.”

“Do I don’t.”

“Meanie,” Oikawa pouts. They leave the classroom and the corridor behind them, taking a turn to the right, then one to the left. Oikawa is not impressed by the silence between them. “You can’t just simply drop that you’re in a ‘relationship’ but then not tell with whom!” he reasons.

“Yes I can.”

“Do you enjoy torturing me like this?”

“No.”

“Do you?”

“Well,” Iwaizumi turns on his heels, and Oikawa almost falls over him. “A little.”

“You do this on purpose, don’t you?” Oikawa asks.

 _“Nooo,”_ Iwaizumi says in reply, all but convincing.

“Evil Iwa-chan. You’re killing me.”

“If it’s important for you to know, you will know it.”

Deprived from his answers, Oikawa deflates, following Iwaizumi to the cafeteria visibly sulking. It is not the first time Iwaizumi does not tell Oikawa something – he has always been, for want of a better word, more independent than Oikawa. He did not find it necessary to tell Oikawa when he broke his arm falling off a tree in first year elementary, and did not run to show off to Oikawa when his first tooth fell out. Iwaizumi has always been something else, something quiet and aloof. Over the times, it painted the impression that he did not need Oikawa just as much as Oikawa needed him – giving Oikawa a trifling but insistent bud of anxiety, lurking deep in his subconscious and causing an occasional existential crisis.

Even if Oikawa knows better.

Even if their trust is unbreakable.

There are days such as this, when Oikawa wavers, feeling unimportant.

“Now, would you stop sulking?” Iwaizumi asks when they sit down in the cafeteria, plate full of food in front of Iwaizumi, plate empty but for a yogurt before Oikawa.

“I… Iwa-chan doesn’t like me,” Oikawa says in reply, slumping down in his seat. He pokes at the lid of his yogurt pitifully, with his lip curving deeper and deeper down.

“I do,” Iwaizumi comments, taking his chopsticks in hand. “No matter how you look at it, for what other reason would I still stick by you, even with your shitty personality?”

“Your compliments are really roundabout.”

“You take weird things as compliments.”

“So who’s your partner?”

“Not telling.”

“Why?”

“Because… I don’t want you to make a scene about it,” Iwaizumi shrugs. “Anyway, we haven’t been together long, and I want to wait a bit more before I make things public. To have time, you know, to adjust to the situation, be a bit more comfortable.”

“Is it someone I know?” Oikawa asks. “At least tell me this much.”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi admits, then, looking at Oikawa’s raised brows, he asks back: “What?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa replies. “I just… didn’t think you’d admit it.”

“I don’t intend to _deceive_ you,” Iwaizumi replies, a hint offended. “I just don’t want for either of you to feel overwhelmed by the situation. I’m afraid that you would do something stupid if you knew with whom I go out.”

“Wait… it’s not Sugawara, is it?”

“No, why would it be him?”

“Well, you said… I would do something stupid. And all I do around Sugawara is something stupid, so…”

“Have you given up on writing him a song yet?” Iwaizumi changes the topic, and Oikawa, for once, falls for it.

“No way!” he replies, elated. “It’s going to be a blast, just wait and see.”

 

* ☆ *

 

Late in the afternoon, when Sugawara stands behind the counter to start off his shift in his dreaded part-time job, he still feels a little absent-minded, stunned by the events of the day.

For one, he doesn’t want anything to do with that man. That man walked out of their lives when Sugawara was little, and never once returned. Sugawara didn’t hear from him for years; not even a birthday card has been sent. So why would he start to care now, and why would Sugawara be obliged to pay attention to him?

On the other hand, his mother is right. If it’s about the money, he should accept it. He could get rid of his part-time job. He could attend a good prep school. He could pay for university without worrying that his mother overworks herself; or without overworking himself.

It could be ideal. All of his worries could fly away, just like that.

_And some people dare to say that money can’t buy you happiness._

Sugawara stifles a sigh, straightens his uniform, flashes his best business smile.

It takes him two customers to divert his focus entirely to work. A third to realize, he has problems aside Yamada Kouta.

“Hello, Sugawara,” Oikawa greets him, and the bashful smile on his face feels so mismatched with the entire Grand King vibe, that Sugawara is immediately reminded of how Oikawa blushed the day before.

_“You’d better not fall for me again if you hurt yourself so badly.”_

Sugawara did say that, didn’t he?

His lips twitch, his carefully practiced jovial smile turns into a scowl, and his feet get anxious, ready to fly.

“Hi, Oikawa.”

If for anything, the appearance of his father was perfect to make him momentarily forget about Oikawa Tooru.

 

* ☆ *

 

When entering the convenience store, Oikawa no doubt had high hopes. Still, the moment he spots the ash blond head behind the counter, his heart skips a beat.

Sugawara is still incredibly beautiful, even if he looks super fed up with life, even if his smile is so plastic it could potentially be on a stock photo, even if his dark circles are dark as doom.

Thinking back, Oikawa realizes that he fell for Sugawara after seeing him receiving a ball in the face, and Oikawa has to stops mid-shop, lamenting about his fatally flawed taste. Then, accepting his fate immediately, he proceeds with a skip in his steps, and walks up to the counter greeting the cashier cheerily.

Sugawara’s fake smile disappears upon seeing him, only to be replaced by a frown. Hopelessly optimistic, Oikawa takes it as a positive sign – no fake smile means that Sugawara feels _something_ upon seeing him, even if that something seems to be slight disgust at the moment.

Something, Oikawa can work with that. It’s way better than indifference.

“Say, Sugawara, when does your shift end?” he asks, casually leaning on the counter.

Sugawara raises a brow, cocking his head sideways to glance at the wall clock behind Oikawa.

“It just started,” he replies.

“Any breaks?”

“Why?”

Oikawa shifts his body weight from one leg to the other. Nervously, he licks his lips.

“I… well. I wrote a song for you.”


End file.
